


It Hurts When I Look In Your Eyes

by aliciutza



Series: Death is not a Lover - Oh yes He is [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone Mythology Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demon Sex, Demon!Jon, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hunter!Daenerys, Jonerys November Event, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, This counts right, and that's a coined phrase looked it up i invented it, and titty sucking, at least imo it counts as such just bare with me because the plot is as thicc as jon's ass, does this also count as, others said it had too much sex instead, still too much plot for an excuse to make demon sex happen but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza
Summary: Hunter!Daenerys gets injured on a hunt. Demon!Jon decides it's his job to kiss it better.Basically another excuse for Demon Sex.





	It Hurts When I Look In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyOfDragonstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfDragonstone/gifts).



> You asked for it. Hope I delivered. All the love to my soft bitches. 
> 
> Extra kisses for atetheredmind for her beta work (even though I totally bullied her into doing it this time too) and for LustOnMyFingers because she puts up with me a lot. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

She hadn't thought about him in over two weeks. Yes,  _ him _ , Dany was trying really hard not to think of his name, since  _ "there's great power in a name" _ according to the handsome devil.

 

After fucking her two more times and making her come so many times it was impossible to keep track, he reluctantly left her in the shabby cabin she had taken as her primary residence at the time. Before he disappeared in a black cloud, she had asked, a bit too eagerly, if she would see him again.  _ "You need just call my name, and I'll find you," _ he had simply offered, leaving her confused and wanting more.

 

The next day she could barely walk straight, not that she was complaining, her sore cunt a pleasant reminder of just how long it had been since she was last thoroughly fucked before  _ he  _ had appeared that fateful night. Her skin bloomed in places with temporary violet tattoos, testimony of his bites and nips, and of his passionate nature. Her arse cheeks were still tinted red, and she could still trace the faint mark of his big hand where he had slapped them while wildly fucking her.

 

She had stopped herself numerous times before she uttered his name, choking on it between her lips, biting hard on her cheeks to stop the treacherous desire from being spoken into reality. She would go through her personal circle of hell, one moment closing her eyes and moaning as she could feel the ghost of his tongue sucking on her nipple, the next cursing herself for being reckless and chastising her heart for crushing on a pretty demon.  _ A bloody demon _ . Her father would definitely burst a vein seeing his only daughter in love with a demon, had he still been alive.  _ Forgive me, Father, _ she thought bitterly. It took her years to realise that her father's madness had been a crude cover up, thanks to his journals–that although were difficult to get through because of his inner demons–at least they were helpful in that she finally understood his obsession with the family legacy. They killed him to bury their secrets. Now it was up to her to recover what had been taken from them.

 

She had to keep moving, it was the only way to survive. She could have no friends, no lovers, not even neighbours. They all dropped dead at one point, as her dark past would eventually catch up to her.

 

As she entered the cheap dirty motel, she could not stop thinking about  _ him _ . Would  _ he  _ help her, or had he simply lied just to shag her? He had seemed too eager to bury his cock in her needy cunt, so for the past two weeks she kept going back and forth on his actual intentions.  _ He was infatuated with her. No, he was not. _

 

She closed the deadbolt on the door, making sure to draw lines of salt at the door and on the only window pane. Daenerys peeled her old leather jacket from her skin–it had been so long she had been wearing it, that it almost stuck to her like a second skin. She took a step closer to the only mirror in the room, to finally assess her wounds: around her neck, a big handprint was starting to form–she would have to wear turtlenecks for the next month; just above her breasts three long diagonal gashes stood, blood already clotting in them; her right shoulder ached where the ghost shoved her into the wall. Tears pricked her eyes as she pulled up her tank top, pain shooting through her entire body, making her feel needy and helpless. She hated getting hurt, her vulnerable state making her even more conscious of her lonely life, on how she could never get comfort in the simple things in life–a hug, sweet words, sleeping in the arms of a loved one. She unlaced her boots and kicked them off while unzipping her black jeans.

 

She jumped in the shower, trying hard not to inspect the state of its cleanliness, needing to feel the hot water run over her tired body, soothing her aches. Some days were better than others, when the monsters she was fighting were just lost souls lashing out. At least the so called Ghost of High Heart had been put to rest, no longer haunting the hill and the surrounding forest, crying for her lost friend and tormenting others, pushing them to their death. Despite being prepared, Dany was not ready for the vicious fight the ghost had put up, and was even more surprised at her strength; the fact that she refused to sing Jenny’s Song had only enraged the ghost more, so she had decided then and there that it was time to put the poor soul to rest once and for all. She took a huge risk visiting her in the first place, but Dany needed to know things only the ghost could tell her. At least she got a confirmation of her father's true intentions, albeit cryptic.

 

She rushed, scrubbing awkwardly with her left hand on her arms, legs and abdomen, careful not to get soap into her still open wounds, then quickly lathering her long mane, rinsing it off as best as she could, considering her aching shoulder–she was now convinced it was dislocated, and she did not look forward to popping it into its place.

 

_ "Anything for my Queen" _ –his words invaded her thoughts again, filling her with longing. He had sounded so serious, yet she couldn't help but wonder about his true intentions.  _ Never trust a demon _ , her late husband had told her, right before the hellhounds came for his soul. A chill ran down her spine making her shiver despite the scalding hot water. Try as she might, Dany felt like he had been a walking contradiction. He was a high ranking demon, yet he had been too trustful, walking straight into her trap; he was powerful and could easily kill her, yet he didn't; he offered to help her, yet she wasn't sure why he would be so selfless. She sighed heavily, running her good hand over her hair to take it out of her face. If she was completely honest, she hadn't seriously considered his offer, despite his sternness, unsure of his true intentions and her apprehension regarding demons. Her head was already hurting, as it did every time she tried to make up her mind about going to Hell. She scoffed at herself, at the ridiculousness of the situation, of her actually  _ considering _ visiting Hell as if it was a holiday destination.

 

She stayed in the tiny shower cabin until the water turned cold. Dany wrapped herself as best as she could in the larger towel, making herself a turban for her wet hair out the smaller one. Sleep would be good,  _ fucking would be best _ to take all the tension off. She went to the bag she had dropped on the armchair by the door, picked up a pair of clean panties and a shirt to sleep in, along with the bottle of Jack she had bought at the last gas station before she got to High Heart.

 

She managed to pull on the shirt, but decided against her panties at the last minute. She took two more big swings out of the bottle before she lay on the bed, awkwardly trying to find the best position to not put more unnecessary pressure on her shoulder. Finally somewhat comfortable, she took steadying breaths, willing the stress and tiredness out of her bones and muscles. She closed her eyes, begging sleep to come, without the nightmares that left her drenched in cold sweat and sobbing in the early hours of the day.

 

Daenerys could hear the crickets outside the thin walls separating her from the cold autumn night. Without realising, her mind went back to the night she had summoned  _ him _ , and she couldn’t stop the fire that pulsed through her veins at the thought of having him between her legs. She shimmied her arse down to a more comfortable position, and gave in to the fantasy. She tried really hard to conjure up the exact way he made her feel when he had pinned her to that wall; she bit her lips, excitement pooling low just at the memory of his hands on her skin. She closed her eyes and ventured her good hand into her hair, tracing back his exact touches, trying to match him in intensity and passion. She snatched the towel off, dropping it onto the floor, spreading her voluminous mane onto the bed.

 

She took her time, recalling every kiss, every touch, every thrust and every taste from that night. Daenerys started slowly, raking her hand through her damp hair, scratching down to the side of her neck, following the same path as he did, from behind her ear to her clavicle, digging her nails into the skin harder than she should; she stopped at her breasts, remembering just how eagerly he had sucked on her nipples. She snaked her hand under the cotton shirt; a moan escaped her as she rolled a nipple between her thumb and index finger, pulling harder, almost matching his tiny bites. She arched her back off the bed, her cunt already dripping on the sheets, begging for her attention. Still, she would not give in… yet. She continued pulling and pinching, twisting and massaging one breast, then the other, moaning into the mouldy motel room. She tried bringing her right hand up, but pain shot through her shoulder; it did nothing to dissuade her from her ultimate goal, rather it spurred her on, inner walls clenching at the unexpected sensation, pain dripping into pleasure and blurring the lines between the two.

 

Daenerys inched her hand closer to her cunt, meaning to barely touch her clit, to push herself closer to the edge; at the last moment she changed her mind, just as he had–when instead of rubbing her throbbing clit, he went to taste her engorged folds, licking and sucking at her slick cunt, teasing her further, making her beg. She slid her fingers over her slit, fingers mingling with her folds, wetter than she thought she was; she let out a loud moan, all worry about being heard forgotten.

 

Years of finding her own pleasure did not matter, as she was trying to emulate his every move, to copy his thrust, to make herself as wet as he managed to do with just a kiss and a pinch of her arse. She rolled herself on her belly, hand trapped between her and the mattress; Dany continued her exploration, her middle finger tentatively probing at her entrance. She remembered all too well how good it had felt to let herself be handled by him; she pushed her arse up, just as she had when she was grinding into his cock while he kept her pinned against the wall. She thrust two fingers inside, as sharply as he had when he took her on the table, as relentlessly as her position would allow her. She heaved into the mattress and moaned as her arousal dripped past her nimble fingers. As she added a third finger, she could almost smell him, burnt wood in the fresh snow, and it only made her moan harder. If she could move her right hand, this would be when she would bring it to her clit and rub furiously or maybe bring it to her breasts to pinch her nipples, toes curling and body shaking. But she couldn’t, so she turned on her left side, squeezing her thighs together, hoping the added pressure would be enough. She took her fingers out of her cunt and brought them to her mouth, licking them clean, imagining herself gagging on his cock; she moaned, wondering if he had loved how she tasted.

 

She turned back on her back and bent her legs, feet securely planted on the mattress, as she brought her clean fingers back to her clit, slowly building up to a steady but intense rhythm. As her release was approaching, her fingers were starting to cramp; she couldn’t help but think how he would be much better at this, how he would not chase his own pleasure until she had found hers multiple times. Her right hand involuntarily grabbed on the white sheet, delicious pain shooting directly through her cunt, pushing her that much closer to the edge. Daenerys rubbed intensely, clenching her right fist harder, in an attempt to find her release, back arching further away from the bad, eyes squeezed shut. Then she finally snapped, all that pressure erupted in a sudden burst of pleasure, her vision going white, breathing heavily as she gasped out the name she avoided uttering all this time “ _ Jon _ .”

 

She was floating, she was sure of it, her body forgotten in a puddle of her own arousal. The air shifted, suddenly aware of another presence in the scruffy motel room–she pried her eyes open, chest still heaving from her  _ activities _ .  _ He  _ was there, at the foot of her bed, in his perfect black suit, hair slicked back, eyes dark with desire, and a smirk dangling from the corner of his mouth.

 

“And I thought you had called because you missed me,” he said, folding his hands on his chest, eyes raking over her heaving body.

 

She panted, still not down from the high of the orgasm she just gave herself. It dawned upon her that she had indeed been the one to call him; although she did not mean for him to find her in such a state, she did not regret it. “Did you?” she finally croaked, voice low and sore from the previous exertions. “...miss me,” she provided when his right brow raised up in question.

 

“I was beginning to think that you were either avoiding me or that the sex had been  _ sub-par _ ,” he huffed, “although I very much doubt that was the case, but still, a lonely man wonders…” he trailed off, massaging his bearded chin.

 

“I… have been busy,” she lied, although she didn't know why. He looked at her incredulously. She tried to push herself up and rest on her forearms, but she had completely forgotten about her injury, so she slumped back with a painful jerk and a cry.

 

He was next to her in an instant, eyes full of concern. “You’re hurt,” he frowned. “Who did this? Was it one of my guys?” he looked her over, probably taking in any other injury, “I'll end them,” he spoke in a low growl, right fist clenching, left hand stopping short from touching her face.

 

“Jon, stop,” she covered his hand with her good one. He looked down at their joined hands. “I'm fine,” his eyes snapped back at her, deep lines adorning his forehead; “...mostly,” she amended with a crooked smile.

 

Jon shook his head unconvinced. He snapped the fingers of his right hand–a dozen or so white candles appearing seemingly out of thin air, already lit, and bathing her in their orange light. With a wave of his hand, the curtains were pulled shut, shielding them from the rest of the world. All the while, he had not looked away from her.

 

“I'll decide if you're fine. Let me have a look,” he pleaded. She nodded, knowing that it would be futile to fight him. As he looked closer, without touching her, she couldn't help but feel something taking root in her heart at his concern and fussing. She pressed her lips to conceal the smile that threatened to spread to her entire face.

 

His fingers ghosted over her chest, right above the ugly gashes the ghost left on her, brow furrowed in concentration. Next his eyes took in the state of her face, stopping at her right cheek. By his expression, more bruises had appeared since she had last checked. He then saw her injured shoulder, all red and throbbing.

 

He sighed, “I can help with your injuries, but the shoulder will hurt. I can't make it not hurt. I'm sorry, Love,” he looked at her with those big eyes, and she had to turn away, the concern in them being too much to take in. Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

 

He softly traced the gashes with his fingers, leaving her skin pristine in their passing, as if she had never been hurt. Next, he took her right cheek in his palm, and she leaned into the gentle touch. Her head became lighter, no longer feeling the edges of a pulsing headache.

 

He gave her a reassuring smile, as his fingers lingered a moment longer on her cheek. All too soon they were gone. When she opened her eyes, he was on the other side of the bed, shrugging out of his jacket. He approached her right side, looking apologetic.

 

“Do you trust me?” She nodded eagerly. “Good. I need to pop it back in, so just relax and I’ll do the rest.” He pursed his lips; she couldn't help but realise how handsome he looked, face partially enveloped in the shadows, he looked like he was the night personified. Jon took her arm in his hand, holding one above and the other under it, bending it at her elbow. He then proceeded to steadily pull her arm away from her torso, and towards him. Pain shot through her and she bit hard on her lips not to cry out. A whimper passed her lips as he pulled further.

 

“I'm sorry, Love. I can't do this fast,” he explained, but Dany could barely hear him. Her body felt like it was passing through a vice, her shoulder throbbing under the added pressure. Tears filled her eyes, and she could barely see anything else than splotches of flames, as if looking through a kaleidoscope.

 

“Just a bit more…” a loud pop broke through his sentence, instant relief coursing through her entire body and she let out a shuddering breath. Jon gently put her arm on the bed, and in the next second she was being pulled into a tight embrace. Great sobs wracked her entire body, the pain of popping her limb back into place combined with his attentiveness were proving to be too much too sudden too hard on her guarded soul. The feeling nagging her since he materialised in her room finally coming to surface. It was care.  _ He cared for her _ . His reaction when he saw her hurt, the reverence with which he had healed her, his strong arms keeping her against his chest, brushing her damp hair and slowly rocking her in an attempt to calm her down. She hiccupped on a few more sobs before she finally calmed down, Jon still rocking their bodies and humming what sounded like an old lullaby. She remained in his embrace for Gods knows how long; she somehow managed to push herself into his lap and she couldn’t help but feel like a stray cat in need of comfort.

 

Dany pulled back slowly, face puffy and arm still throbbing, although it was nothing compared to the pain she had felt when she arrived at the motel. Jon looked down at her, dark eyes sparkling in the light of the candles. “So, did you miss me?” he said, this time actually asking, mischievous smile adorning his lips.

 

She suddenly felt too shy to say it out loud, “I did,” she replied, her voice a hair above a whisper. The smile that spread on his face was contagious.

 

“As did I,” he whispered, hands cradling her face, gently pulling her to him for a chaste kiss. Her heart filled with gratitude, and she felt unsteady again. She breathed deeply, and pulled back, just an inch.

 

He moved his hand to her shoulder, and the pain that subsided after he put it into place was barely there anymore. “I couldn't do that without popping it back in first. I know how much it hurts.”

 

“She rubbed the tears away from her face. “It wasn't one of your guys. I ran into the Ghost of High Heart.”

 

“And you survived just with that?” He stared at her–eyes big and mouth open.

 

“It was all worth it, at least now she is finally resting in peace,” she explained.

 

“You managed to do that by yourself?” His voice took on a tone akin to pride. She cocked her head to the side, as if it was the obvious explanation. He shook his head smiling, “Then it seems I am luckier than I thought.”

 

She wanted to say more, that she could not stop thinking about him, that she had been more than once ready to give in and call out his name, but decided not to because she was scared that she was giving him too much of her, all at once and unconditionally. She wanted to ask him if he also thought of her just as much, if he could also vividly remember the look in her eyes while she rode him, just like she could still see his expression when she closed her eyes. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed, his hands still on her face, his thumbs gently wiping away her stray tears, his gaze full of concern. So she let go of her fears, like letting go of the rail on a bridge and falling into the depths of his embrace.

 

She kissed him so fervently, nothing chaste about it this time. Jon was trying to respond to her eagerness in kind, pulling her closer onto his lap, and already she could feel his cock hardening under her arse. He slowly pulled up her shirt, stopping just for a moment to pull it over her head, then pushing her onto the bed. He hovered over her, and she knew he was trying hard to be gentle, something in the way he looked into her eyes; her chest tightened, her heart lurching at something that he held in his gaze; it was the moment she realised that this was the beginning of something  _ more _ . Still she couldn't decide whether she was falling of her own accord or if there was something bigger pushing her into Jon’s arms and pushing him into her heart.

 

Daenerys pulled on his tie, impatient to rid him of all his clothes; he took the hint and sat up, undressing for her. He undid his tie, pushed his feet out of his shiny shoes, hands going to his belt next. Her gaze travelled to his groin as he pulled his shirt out of his pants, a moan leaving her as her eyes fell on his very obvious erection. He closed his eyes and swallowed, his Adam’s apple going up and down against his collar. His right hand started unbuttoning the shirt, one button at a time, patiently, while his left hand caressed his cock though the fabric. Jon let the shirt fall to the floor, along with the pants; he shimmied out of his underwear and made his way on top of her, right where he was before.

 

The instant he fell in between her legs, she hooked her legs around him to keep him just…  _ there _ . Jon nuzzled her nose and started a slow torturous path from her mouth to her jaw, to her neck, to between her breasts, to her bellybutton, to her cunt–barely touching it with his lips–to her left leg, following an unhurried undemanding unrelenting ritual, something between an open mouth kiss and a lick on her inner thigh, her shin, down to her ankle, her heel and the sole of her foot. When he traced back the same path she was already panting and writhing, barely able to stay put; he reached her cunt again and she swore she could feel him smiling as a desperate moan forced its way out of her. Yet he didn’t stop; he repeated the same open mouthed kisses on her right leg, like a well-rehearsed ritual, and she felt her skin being ignited by his every touch and kiss and pass of his tongue.  _ He was trying to kill her. _

 

Her knuckles hurt by how tight she was grabbing onto the sheets, and when he finally came back up to her cunt she whimpered as his tongue prodded between her folds, her release just at the tips of her fingers, she needed only reach out and she would be utterly shattered. Jon grabbed her thighs, further prying them apart, and she let him; she would let him do whatever he wanted to her body, completely and wholeheartedly surrendering to his will. His tongue lapped at her as his fingers left indentations in her left thigh and her right hip; abruptly she drowned in her release, let herself be pulled under by the wave created by her quaking body. Her ears buzzed and she could vaguely make out his gruff voice, accent thick with desire.

 

She gradually came to her senses, the weight of his body on her anchoring her, bringing her back to her own body. The next thing she felt–besides the familiar hardness of his cock patiently resting on her stomach–was his left hand caressing her neck, turning her head towards him ever so slightly. She opened her eyes slowly, the soft glow of the candlelight gently lulling her to a shameless lethargic state. Even her cheeks hurt when she tried to smile; he laughed at her sluggish self, but she couldn’t make herself care. His eyes,  _ his damned eyes _ –there he was again–looking at her like she was the most important person in the entire world; she buried her hands into his luscious hair, pulling him into a searing kiss, not yet ready to confront the meaning of the look in his eyes. And he did as she bid, moaning into her mouth, grinding his cock against her stomach as she tugged on his curls. He plundered her mouth, imbuing his kiss with equal parts of care and desire; unexpectedly he pulled back just a hair, but she would not waste any more time.

 

“Make love to me, Jon,” she pleaded, eyes filled with the tears she was trying so hard to keep at bay  _ again _ .

 

He shifted, putting all his weight into his right forearm–his left hand aligning his cock with her entrance. He took a deep breath and pushed into her, eyes boring into hers as he sheathed himself completely into her welcoming cunt. The exquisite intrusion filling her body and soul, making her feel complete and safe and …  _ loved _ . Tears spilled onto her face and he quickly caught them with his lips, the gesture bulldozing all the walls she had built around herself. He kept going at a pure slow tortuously pace. His left hand found hers and he intertwined their fingers; the walls of her cunt squeezed around him and he answered by squeezing her hand. He was building up to a faster rhythm and she could already hear the pull of her impending release. Her left hand went to cradle his cheek, and he turned his mouth into it, kissing her palm ever so softly. She arched back into him–his answering grunts encouragement enough to make her repeat the move. His eyes fluttered and they turned to their true form; she moaned in approval; he dove faster into her, thrusts shallow and forceful; she hitched her right leg even further up, her ankle touching his lower back, searching for…  _ there _ –that extraordinary spot only he managed to touch–the flames of her orgasm already burning at her edges.

 

“That’s it, Love, let go,” he keened in between grunts.

 

She did, she finally let go of her control of her fears of her doubts and let Jon’s entire being consume her. He quickly followed her with a couple of jerks before he took her mouth into a chaotic kiss, lips trembling and teeth clashing. As they were coming down from their high, their kisses were becoming less messy but lazier.

 

Jon pushed himself back and out of her, slumping on the bed besides her, pushing her into his side, draping her with his body. For a spell he said nothing and she relished in the way his chest expanded and contracted with every breath he took.

 

“I was afraid you might never want to see me again,” he finally murmured softly against her temple, making her throat constrict with unspoken emotion.

 

She swallowed it all down, “I guess I thought you would need an answer next time we would see each other. Then...” she paused, uncertain of her words, “I thought you had maybe forgotten about me or weren’t interested anymore.”

 

He pulled back just to look at her, “Daenerys… I wanted to give you space. That’s why I let you decide when and whether to call me. I’ve been honest with you since we met. I only played on the Lord Commander lie because, well… you can be very intimidating,” he chuckled.

 

She made a point of pouting. Jon kissed her again, running a hand on her forehead to smooth out the lines. “Do you invite all the ladies to your bachelor’s pad in Hell, my Lord?”

 

He shook his head. “There has been no one else for the longest time.”

 

That was certainly not the answer she was expecting. She caught the hand that was still stroking her forehead and brought it to her lips to leave the tiniest of kisses on his thumb. He closed his eyes at the intimate gesture; when he opened them–they looked human again, big and gentle and the colour of an impending storm.

 

“I find it harder and harder to remember that you’re a demon.”

 

He bitterly smiled, “yet I can’t ever forget it, not for a moment.”

 

His discomfort was obvious, so she tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, too exhausted to ask him about other important things that could wait until the next time. “I didn’t know you could heal,” she ventured.

 

“Depends on the demon; let’s just say I have a few special talents in my arsenal,” he simply offered. “I found Commander Mormont's old diaries, and have been reading my way through them. I have managed to get through the first half of century of his mandate, but nothing so far; the deals he mentions are surprisingly boring and uninteresting, just the usual crossroads pacts and other soul selling deals. But I have given the task of going through the rest of them to one of my most trustworthy brothers, if there is anything to be found, he will uncover it.”

 

“Mmmm…” was the only thing she could reply, as she was already feeling her mind drifting in and out of consciousness.

 

She felt him wrap her in the sheet, still safely tucked in his arms, his left hand gently caressing her lower back. “You’re not like everyone else,” was the last thing she thought he whispered before she finally succumbed to her exhaustion.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh forgot to say this was a gift for LadyOfDragonstone because I love her and I want to see her blush when she realises why *exactly* I gifted it to her :)
> 
> Drop by in the comments, tell me what was you favourite part and whether you want more ;)


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